orward.

She turned and faced him, and her answer came in an almost inaudible
whisper. But he heard it, though he believed he had not heard aright.

"Do I understand you to say that your hand is the wager?" he asked,
surprisedly.

"Yes!" she answered.

For a moment he looked at her in the utmost astonishment. Then a laugh
suffused his fair face. Surely this was the strangest wager that he had
ever heard of. He was used to the jolly larks of girls; but surely this
was the strangest of them all. He knew that there was little hope of
Queen Bess winning the race. But he answered, with the utmost gravity:

"Very well; I accept your wager. Your hand shall be the prize, if the
little mare wins."

"She is so very young--only eighteen," he said to himself, "that she
never realized what she was saying. It was only a jolly, girlish prank."

If there had been in his mind the very slightest notion that Queen Bess
would win, he should have refused to accept the wager. But she surely
would not win; he was certain of that.

So, with an amused smile, he acquiesced in the strange compact. In the
midst of the talking and laughing, the horses came cantering on to the
course.

It was a beautiful sight, the thorough-bred horses with their coats
shining like satin, except where the white foam had specked them, as
they tossed their proud heads with eager impatience, the gay colors of
their riders all flashing in the sunlight.

A cheer goes up from the grand stand, then the starter takes his place,
and the half-dozen horses, after some little trouble, fall into
something like a line. There is an instant of expectancy, then the flag
drops, and away the horses fly around the circular race-track.

For a moment it is one great pell-mell rush. On, on, they fly, like
giant grey-hounds from the leash, down the stretch of track, until they
are but specks in the distance; then on they come, thundering past the
grand stand at a maddening pace, with Robin Adair in the lead, General,
Yellow Pete, and Black Daffy going like the wind at his heels, and
Queen Bess--poor Queen Bess!--fully a score of yards behind.

A mad shout goes up for Robin Adair. He looks every inch the winner,
with his eyes flashing, his nostrils dilated. Every man leans forward in
breathless excitement. Even the ladies seem scarcely to breathe.
Suddenly a horse stumbles, and the rider is thrown headlong. There is a
moment's hush; but the horse is only an outsider, and the c